


Train Wrecks

by neverbirds



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23198158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverbirds/pseuds/neverbirds
Summary: “You’re in my seat.”“Do you have a reservation?”“No,” says the most handsome man Connor has ever seen in real life, with a biting conviction that makes Connor smirk. He tries to picture a scenario where giving his number to angry strangers on an 08:02 train works out in his favour.“Then piss off,” says Connor, rolling his eyes. “Or sit down on this clearly empty seat next to me.”
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 10
Kudos: 98





	Train Wrecks

**Author's Note:**

> Jambo! Long time, no see. Hello from my quarantined house as I "work from home", aka clearing out my google docs out just to have something to do. 
> 
> I thought this had been purged from existence off my old tumblr and I was so happy to find this - and still like it, years later (when did I even write this? 2018?) - I wanted to post it somewhere, like, just because. 
> 
> (ps not back from ~hiatus, as I'm working on an Actual Novel that I think might maybe possibly be Actually Good(?), but every day of a pandemic brings us a new surprise like a cat proudly bringing you a chewed up bird... but I really do miss y'all as I stare wistfully out of the window wondering when Kevin Price will return from war.)

**1.**  
Connor is running late. He’s never late. 

He drinks his coffee down so quickly it burns his tongue, and he knows he’s going to be bothering it all day, running it over the top of his gums. Because he’s _nervous._ Connor’s usually not nervous, but Connor doesn’t usually have a job interview. He got back from his mission and the most he has to say for himself over the past two months is three failed interviews and the fact that next door’s cat has grown attached to him, and although he doesn’t even like cats it does makes him feel quite good about himself. He shoves toast in his mouth, grabs his bag, and laments the fact he doesn’t have time to check his hair. He’ll have to settle for the reflection of the train window, and _God,_ he’s not going to get this job. 

He manages to get on the train within seconds of the doors closing, and thanks God for it. Even more miraculously, there’s a _seat._ By a _window_.He settles in and presses his forehead to the cool glass, content to watch buildings and trees and practice his interview answers over and over again in his head, imprint them in his neat script behind his eyelids; colour-coded and everything. 

Somebody taps him on the shoulder, and Connor looks into a face that could be sculptured in marble, if it weren’t for the scowl kind of ruining it. 

“You’re in my seat.” 

Connor gives this _gorgeous specimen,_ holy shit, a cool and even look. He’s perfected that look. He’s the _king_ of that look. 

“Do you have a reservation?” 

“No,” says the most handsome man Connor has ever seen in real life, with a biting conviction that makes Connor smirk. He tries to picture a scenario where giving his number to angry strangers on an 08:02 train works out in his favour. 

“Then piss off,” says Connor, rolling his eyes. “Or sit down on this clearly empty seat next to me.” 

Surprisingly, this perfect creature _does_ sit next to him. Their arms brush. Connor knows he’s not going to recover from this encounter for at least a week. 

“It’s my seat,” he says. “I always sit there.” 

“I don’t see your name on it.” 

The man goes silent at that, and Connor is content to admire the way his eyes crinkle when he glares at him. 

“I have a job interview,” Connor offers. 

The man says nothing, just turns his head away and crosses his arms. Connor snorts to himself, thinks, _some people are so rude,_ and tries to think of all the ways being a district leader has given him transferable skills. 

**2.**  
Connor doesn’t get on that same train again for weeks, not until he finds himself helping Harriet move out of her apartment and the movers are coming at 10:30am. He doesn’t even realise he’s on the same carriage headed for the same seat until he notices a name scrawled out in particularly awful handwriting on the plastic headrest: **KEVIN.**

Connor laughs; really laughs, because he’d almost immediately forgotten about the mouth-watering stranger on the train, but clearly _Kevin_ hadn’t forgotten about him. 

He wishes he had a pen, so he could retaliate. He thinks about Kevin-the-hot-guy-from-the-train bringing a Sharpie, deliberately, double checking he hasn’t forgotten it in the morning as he rushes out of the door, just to prove a petulant, unnecessary point. He sits down in the seat anyway. He’s kind of hoping Kevin will turn up again; he looks like it would be fun to make him flustered. 

Connor waits around five minutes before realising Kevin isn’t going to show up. It’s a shame, Connor thinks, that he may never see a face that good-looking again. 

**3.**  
“Kevin,” Connor greets a few weeks later. Kevin, to his credit, looks like he at least pretends not to recognise him. “I believe you’re sat in my seat.” 

“It’s my seat,” says Kevin. “It has my name on it.” 

“I can’t believe you,” says Connor, because he can’t. It’s so funny to him. Connor already wants to tease Kevin until he gets all red and possibly stuttery. “You don’t seem like the type to deface private property.” 

“I’m not,” says Kevin, and Connor believes him. “Hey -” 

Connor spins around on his heel; Kevin won this round, and they’re getting some stares. It’s a busy train. 

“ - um. How did your job interview go?” 

Connor stares at Kevin for a long, long time. 

“My name is Connor,” he says. “I’ll see you around, Kevin.” 

**4.**  
The next time Connor has to get on the 8:02 train, he leaves fifteen minutes early.

“I didn’t get the job,” Connor tells Kevin, when he arrives twenty-three seconds after Connor. “Since you asked. I didn’t get the three other jobs I had interviews for, either.” 

“Jesus Christ,” says Kevin, who pinches the bridge of his nose and sits down next to him. “I won’t fight you for the seat, no need for your sob story.” 

“A change of heart?” says Connor. “What was it, my winning smile?” 

“No,” says Kevin. “My girlfriend broke up with me.” 

“Oh,” says Connor. “How long were you together?” 

“A year,” Kevin shrugs. Connor hasn’t dated anybody for longer than a month, never mind a whole three-hundred and sixty-five days. _Yikes,_ he thinks, and suddenly feels quite bad about the whole seat thing. It _does_ have Kevin’s name on it. “And now I have to go to work like everything is normal and try to find somewhere to live. Lucky me.” 

“Hey,” says Connor, and claps him on the shoulder. “Being single could be really good for you. You clearly have a stick up your ass that desperately needs removing.” 

“I don’t -- I don’t know how to do that.” 

“What? Be single?”

“Remove the stick from my ass,” Kevin says. 

Connor’s eyes laugh at him as his mouth twitches. 

“You have a sense of humour,” says Connor. “You’re devilishly attractive. You wear a suit a lot, which leads me to believe you have a good job, but even if you don’t, who cares? You look fantastic in a tie. And yeah, you clearly have some -- _possessiveness_ issues, but that can be kinda hot. You’ll be fine.” 

“I -- what?” 

“Plenty of fish in the sea,” says Connor. “You’re very attractive bait, is what I’m saying here.” 

“You think I’m attractive?” 

Connor looks over at Kevin’s big eyes and sees how dumb he really is in their wide innocent surprise. 

“Have you looked in a mirror?” 

“I’m -- uh. Thanks?” 

“You’re welcome,” says Connor, and puts his headphones in, because he’s a jerk like that. He ignores Kevin elbowing him in the side to get his attention, occasionally kicking his shin, for the next ten minutes until Kevin gets off. He turns around to look at Connor for a brief second; Connor salutes him, and Kevin salutes him back. 

**5.  
** “Okay,” says Kevin. “This is ridiculous. This is the first stop, _how_ did you get on before me?” 

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” says Connor, then pats the seat next to him. “Come on. Sit down. I don’t bite.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Kevin. “You’re some kind of seat-stealing demon.” 

“It’s not your seat,” says Connor. “If anything it’s our seat.”

“Cute,” says Kevin, gingerly sitting next to him. “We’ll be picking out china patterns, next.”

“You seem chirpier,” says Connor. “Get over your breakup?”

“I did, actually,” says Kevin, happily. “Get a job yet?” 

“Not yet,” says Connor, and he wants to be miserable about it but can’t quite bring himself when Kevin looks so adorably engaged. “On my way to another job interview now. For a bar. I have no experience whatsoever. I was a district leader on my mission but that’s about it.”

“Mormon?”

“Ex-Mormon.”

“Me too,” says Kevin, and Connor sits up a little straighter, watches him a little more closely. “I served in Uganda. Kitguli.” 

“Kampala,” says Connor, feeling a little off-balance. “Small world.” 

“I’ll say,” says Kevin. “Okay, I help you with your interview. What would you say your three biggest strengths are?”

Connor smiles; slowly, and deliberately. 

**6.**  
Connor sits down on the seat; **KEVIN** has been smudged and scratched a little, but it’s still there, still makes Connor smile every time he sees it. 

He hasn’t seen him for around a month; to say Connor has only met him a handful of times, he can’t keep his mind off him. He hasn’t gotten on the 8:02 train since he got the job at the bar; crawling in at 3am every night doesn’t really make him motivated to go into the city during rush hour just in case he bumps into a mild crush. 

(Well, _mild_ might be an understatement. But Connor has crushes all the time, he’ll get over this one soon enough. Probably. Why he hasn’t yet, to be perfectly honest, is a mystery to him.) 

He’s on the 4:02pm train instead, ready for his shift, daydreaming about undoing Kevin’s tie; imagining him in his missionary uniform, hot and sweaty and dirty in the Ugandan heat --

There’s a phone number, he notices out of the corner of his eye. It’s in the same black sharpie and awful writing as **KEVIN.** Written underneath: _simu yangu_.

He types the number into his phone, but doesn’t do anything about it for five days, until he gets drunk after work and calls him. 

“Hello?” says a sleep-rough voice that makes Connor all tingly, imagining his bed hair, imagining running his fingers _through_ that bed hair. 

“ _Hujambo_ ,” says Connor, solemnly. “It’s the seat-stealer.” 

“Hello, Connor,” says Kevin, and yawns. “Seven different people prank called me before you did.” 

“I’m flattered you’re still picking up the phone,” says Connor, and he’s not quite sure what he’s doing or saying. “Are you still living with your ex? Because I need a place to stay closer to work and you should move in with me, probably.” 

“It’s 3:30 in the morning,” says Kevin. 

“It’s 3:30 and I am deadly serious,” says Connor, putting on the most serious voice he can. It’s hard when he can hear Harriet squealing inside. “I like you. I think you’re fun.”

“Am I still dreaming?” says Kevin. “Nobody has ever called me fun before.” 

“I could show you what fun is,” Connor practically purrs, and he would be embarrassed about the noise that just came out of his mouth if Kevin’s breath didn’t hitch so delightfully on the other end of the phone. “If you wanted.” 

“I’m going to sleep,” says Kevin. “When I said call me, I meant sober and during daylight.” 

The dial tone rings, as expected; Connor just grins at his phone. 

**7.**  
They start texting. Connor hasn’t had to put this much work into hooking up with somebody since he was actually in the _middle_ of his _mission_. In _Uganda_. 

Maybe trying to convince him to move in with him is a bad idea; it seems pretty extreme for a one night stand, but Connor could definitely extend to a friends-with-benefits situation. He is kind of desperate to move, and Kevin keeps sending bitchy texts about _Molly._ Connor kind of hates Molly, for no real reason. He’s never even met her, but every time her name flashes on his screen in the form of a whiny text message, he resists the urge to like -- punch something, or, or, _something._ He’s not quite sure what. 

He’s getting a little tired of waiting on Kevin to pick up on the hint, to be perfectly honest with you. He’s oblivious and ridiculous and infuriatingly ignorant to all of Connor’s advances. 

Kevin doesn’t answer his texts for over a week, so Connor gets a sharpie and writes **CONNOR** on the seat, just to piss him off. He almost crosses out **KEVIN** but can’t bring himself to. 

(Kevin texts him about twenty-five minutes later; he dropped his phone down the toilet and just got a new one. Connor feels a little silly, but the point remains: it’s Connor’s seat, too, whether Kevin likes it or not.) 

It’s been around six months since Kevin first angrily barged into his life on an early morning train when Connor’s hair looked awful and he’d bitten his lips until they were bleeding from nerves. 

It’s also been around three weeks since he’s had to get the train. He stares down at the seat, unblinking, glad the carriage is empty enough for him to have a mild breakdown. The seat says **KEVIN ♥ CONNOR,** and Connor’s insides turn into goo. 

Connor promptly freaks out, before calling Kevin in a panic. 

“You love me,” says Connor. “Isn’t that a bit soon?”

“I _heart_ you,” Kevin says. “There’s a difference.” 

“I have been flirting with you for _months,_ Kevin Price,” says Connor, and he wishes he were angrier than he is. 

“I thought maybe you just flirt with everybody.”

“I’m -- well, yes, okay, that may be true, but I don’t ask just anybody to move in with me!” 

“Oh,” says Kevin. “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?” 

“Yeah,” Connor says, and traces the letters with his fingers. “That would be nice.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember kids, avoid public transport and wash your damn hands ♥


End file.
